


We'll Make a Memory Out of It

by grumpybell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:57:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6720805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Bellarke (and possibly other The 100 pairings) drabbles that I do as writing warm ups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isopropyl and Apologies

_1\. character A (Clarke) wants something from character B (Bellamy) and character B won't give it to them._

 

**Isopropyl and Apologies  
**

The fifth time she gives him a bloody nose, he swears it's not going to happen again. Of course, he said that about the fourth time, cursing and trying to staunch the blood with Miller's tie, as his traitor of a best friend laughed hysterically in the seat next to him. He'd said that the first time. And every time in between.

She packs a hell of a punch, but he'd never tell her that. Instead, he tips his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose and clings to the last shreds of his dignity. He suspects, secretly, that he'd actually lost those around the third bloody nose. She's got bruises too, he reminds himself, brighter on her pale skin than his darker complexion, but it doesn't do much to soothe his ego when Miller's laughter is bouncing off the glass of the car windows.

“You've gotta admit,” Miller manages, gasping for breath, “you like her.”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“She's an entitled, bratty, rich, _whiny_ -”

“-she kicks your ass on a regular basis. You like her.”

If he could tilt his head to shoot Miller a death glare without risking bloodstains on the upholstery, he would.

“No.”

A loud rap on his window diverts his attention. Clarke's standing outside the car, holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a handful of gauze, her face all apologies.

“ _No,”_ he says loudly enough that she can hear him through the glass.

“I said I was sorry, Bellamy!” He hates that she's always _sorry_ , like she doesn't know that these days she's better than him and that's why he's always the one left bleeding. More than that, he hates that she's better than him. If he could glare at _her_ without risking bloodstains on the upholstery, he _definitely_ would.

“You're being an idiot! I'm halfway through medical school, I can _help_ ,” she tries, but he doesn't budge. He doesn't want her help. He wants to be the one who's not bleeding every week, thank you very much. He notes, vaguely, that Miller has stopped laughing, and is watching the exchange with a stupid grin plastered all over his stupid face.

“I might have broken it this time,” she continues, having the nerve, he seethes, to look sheepish. He hates it, because if it were the other way around, especially by now, he'd be gloating. Of course, _she_ feels bad about it.

“Maybe you should stop hitting me in the nose, then,” he suggests thickly, resolutely not looking at her. It turns out to be an easy task. With his head tilted back at an awkward angle, she's no more than an out of focus smudge on the other side of his window.

“I thought you'd get faster,” she states simply. He'd snort, but he's pretty sure that's not an option at the moment, at least, not if he wants all of his hard work to keep blood off of his nice car seats to mean anything. _Faster_. Like he's just going to suddenly be able to dodge her stupid quick blows. He's stronger than her, but he's never going to be as fast.

“You haven't,” she adds unhelpfully. He doesn't dignify that comment with a response. They stay like that for a few moments, at an impasse. He can wait her out. He knows, because this is the fourth time she's appeared there, armed with isopropyl and apologies. She's not patient, though, something he holds against her (because aren't future doctors supposed to be _patient_ with injured people?), and he knows this is a fight he can win. He's going to take his victories where he can get them.

Finally, she moves, sighing heavily and rolling her eyes. She straightens up, tucking the supplies into her gym bag. She carries around _supplies_ for this since the first time it happened, a fact that might wound his pride more than all the rest of it put together.

“Have it your way, then,” he barely hears her mutter, as she turns and treks back towards the gym. She never looks back. Not that he checks. Ten minutes into the car ride back to his apartment, head still hiked back against the headrest and Miller letting out the occasional chuckle, the ache is starting to set in, his blood going from sticky to dry flakes on his skin. He wonders, at times like these, what exactly he's winning by refusing her help.

 


	2. College Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the "based loosely on things that actually happened to me in college" drabbles
> 
> Clarke's dorm key breaks off in the lock when she's coming home at 3 in the morning. Bellamy is her RA who is not happy to be woken up.

Clarke is pretty sure this isn't her _fault._ Literally all she did was try to unlock her door and now she's stuck standing in the hallway, holding half her key, the other half firmly wedged in the lock. Clarke didn't even know this was _possible_. It doesn't help that it's just past three in the morning, she hasn't slept in a two days, and she doesn't have a roommate who could let her in from the inside. She stands there, staring blankly at the lock for several long moments.

In the end, there's nothing for it but to trudge down the hall and bang on Bellamy's door. It's not like she _wants_ to wake up her insanely hot and determinedly grumpy RA. She has no interest in that, but she doesn't seem to have much of a choice.

“What?” he growls as he wrenches the door open. Clarke can't help but take a step back at his furious tone. Bellamy Blake is glaring at her, hair a mess, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. She's a little bit frightened and a little bit appreciative.

“I'm locked out,” Clarke blurts out, wondering if the better option would have been to just curl up in the common room and wait for morning.

Bellamy drags a hand over his face, sighing. “You're supposed to call the RA on duty. I'm off the clock.” She's pretty sure he's going to murder her and she can't exactly blame him. The common room definitely would have been a better option.

“My phone's in my room,” Clarke says weakly. “And I have an 8 AM and my homework is in there too.” She's not sure it would win her any points to mention she's getting back so late because she'd lost track of time painting in the twenty four hour studio.

Bellamy appears to be grinding his teeth, but he's also fumbling with a key ring hanging by the door, which is more than she expected from him, really. “Okay, okay, let's go.”

“Um. One problem.”

Bellamy stops, waiting, somehow managing to make her feel about two inches tall with just a look.

“I'm locked out because my key broke off in the lock,” Clarke says very quickly. For a moment, Bellamy doesn't do anything. His expression doesn't even change.

“Please tell me you're fucking kidding.”

Clarke holds up the remaining half of the key. She didn't think it was actually possible for Bellamy to look _more_ pissed than he already did, but it's becoming clear that she was wrong. She thinks this probably isn't the best time to point out that this definitely isn't her fault. The school should really provide better quality keys if they don't want to have this problem.

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?” he asks.

“I don't know! What am _I_ supposed to do?! Isn't there some sort of protocol for this?”

Bellamy shoves past her out into the hallway, muttering under his breath. She's pretty sure she hears the words, _screw protocol,_ as he passes. She trails him down the hallway because she's not sure what else to do.

It turns out, he doesn't have much of a plan, just spends five minutes fiddling with the door handle and cursing quietly while Clarke shifts her weight between her feet, wondering if it's inappropriate to curl up on the floor with her backpack as a pillow.

“Have you tried using tweezers or something to pull the key out?” Bellamy asks.

“Where the fuck would I get tweezers? I'm locked out of my room. Do I look like I'm carrying around tweezers?” She probably shouldn't yell at her RA when he's trying to help her, but his condescending tone and her lack of sleep are definitely getting to her. She's as unhappy about all this as he is.

“I don't know, Princess. Are you?”

“Yes,” Clarke says sarcastically. “Because I carry around tweezers and yet didn't manage to think of trying to extract my key with them myself.”

Bellamy glares at her. “Cute.”

“It's not like I did this on purpose,” Clarke snaps. “Trust me, I'm having about as much fun as you are.”

“I'm not even fucking on the clock,” Bellamy snaps back, and then turns sharply and storms back towards his room. Clarke doesn't move, too stunned by his sudden disappearance. Apparently he's abandoned her to her fate. She's so tired, she doesn't know what else to do, but to sink to the carpeted floor and lean her head back against the wall. She's developing a headache and all she wants to do is curl up in her bed.

Bellamy reappears suddenly, cell phone to one ear. “That's what I fucking _said_ , Murphy!” he's saying, running a frustrated hand through his hair and if it weren't already a mess, it would be now. “It doesn't matter, just do your goddamn job.”

Clarke had thought he looked murderous talking to her, but the expression on his face now is downright scary. She watches him curiously as he grunts what she thinks are affirmations into the phone and then hangs up without saying goodbye.

“The school's sending a locksmith over in the morning,” he tells her, rubbing at his eyes and sounding suddenly very tired.

“Right,” Clarke says, resigning herself to a night in one of the armchairs downstairs.

“Come on,” Bellamy jerks his head in the direction of his room. “You can sleep in my room.”

“No, really, I'll be fine-”

“-Look, I'm way too fucking tired to argue with you about this, so if you don't want to, whatever. But I have an extra bed and I'm pretty sure that's better than the dusty chairs downstairs.”

Clarke doesn't say anything else, just gets up and follows him to his room. The perks of being the RA is that he has a room designed for 3 people to himself. There are two empty beds, bunked in the corner. He digs out some spare sheets and tosses her one of his pillows. It seems they're both too tired for further conversation, and Clarke really doesn't mind.

It's not until she's lying on the bottom bunk of the spare bed, staring up at the bunk above her, nearly drifting off that it comes to her.

“Bellamy?”

“Princess.” His voice is slow.

“So, I didn't technically lose my key, so I don't have to pay the $25 replacement fee, right?”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, and that's the last thing she remembers before she falls asleep.

* * *

 

She and Bellamy don't exactly become _friends_ after that, but there's something about trying to solve a problem at three in the morning together that brings them closer. He convinces the school to waive the replacement fee and she bakes him cookies in her friend's off campus apartment. Actually, Wells bakes the cookies while Clarke lounges on his sofa watching reruns of Friends, because she could burn water, but it's the thought that counts. He calls her “Princess” when he sees her, but it's with a fond tone and Clarke doesn't mind so much.

She doesn't really expect it to happen _again_. What are the chances? But there must be something fucked up about her lock because two months later, she's left holding half of her key yet again. It's not as late this time, only 11:30 and she doesn't panic. Instead, she turns on her heel and strides down the hall to Bellamy's room.

He answers the door pretty quickly, still dressed and with glasses sliding down his nose. She waves her broken key at him and then shoulders past him into the room.

“Really?” he asks, but she's already got one of his pillows and is heading for the spare bed.

“It's definitely not my fault,” Clarke tells him, trying to remember where he kept the extra sheets. He takes pity on her and digs them out of the closet himself.

“You know you're literally the only person this happens to, right?” he asks as he's helping her wrestle the fitted sheet onto the crappy dorm mattress.

“I've clearly got a defective door.”

“Maybe you've got anger issues and are being too rough on it,” Bellamy suggests, but he doesn't sound upset, more amused than anything.

“Ha ha. Now excuse me, but I've had a long day, so I'm going to bed,” Clarke tells him.

“By all means, make yourself at home. It's not like you've marched uninvited into my room, or anything.”

“Mhm,” Clarke hums, settling down on the bed. She lets her eyes slide closed.

“Night, Princess,” Bellamy says.

* * *

 

After the second time, they do end up friends. It just seems weird not to be. Clarke takes to studying in his room, lying on her stomach on the extra lower bunk, flipping through her Art History books. Her mother had paid for a single room, thinking she was doing Clarke a favor, but the truth is, Clarke gets lonely in her room. She much prefers Bellamy's quiet company, or the way he curses at history documentaries when he disagrees.

He leaves the spare sheets on the bed, and more and more she finds herself falling asleep there to the sound of Bellamy's pen scratching away at his notebooks. It's comfortable. It's nice. Bellamy is grumpy about 85% of the time, but she likes him that way. She likes that he reminds her of an old man, with an ingrained routine and a freakish love of hot tea and his glasses always sliding down his nose. He's prickly and sometimes judgmental, but he's Bellamy, and she sees underneath those things to someone fiercely loyal and strong and loving too.

She doesn't realize how much her life has melded with his until her key breaks for the third time. She's grumbling under her breath as she shoves Bellamy's door open. He keeps it unlocked most of the time and Clarke isn't sure if that's because he forgets, or if he's leaving it open for her. He's at his desk, open books scattered everywhere and Clarke knows the signs of “deep in a paper” Bellamy, but she's too annoyed to stop herself from interrupting.

She tosses the broken key down onto the desk in front of him, and he blinks at it, clearly surprised, before looking up at her and saying, “So?”

“ _So?_ ” Clarke snaps. “So, _clearly_ the school needs to do something other than send a locksmith over and hand me a new key! I can't be locked out of my room all the time!”

“Why not?” Bellamy asks, brushing the key off his paper and adding a note. “All your stuff is in here anyway.”

Clarke lets out a surprised breath. “What? No it's not!” It's an instinct to protest.

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks. “Name one thing you need from your room.”

“My phone charger.”

“Here,” Bellamy says, gesturing at the wall where it's still plugged in.

“My PolySci book.”

“Here.”

“My shampoo.”

“ _Here_ , Clarke.”

She blinks at him. She hadn't realized she'd basically moved in. But okay, maybe that's the point. It doesn't feel like the point, but she jumps on it.

“Okay, so that's exactly the problem, right? I don't even trust I'll be able to get into my room for any of those things, so they ended up here.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her.

“What?” Clarke demands, because she knows that look and he's laughing at her.

“Seriously, that's what you're going with?” Bellamy asks.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

But Bellamy only rolls his eyes and turns back to his paper. “I'll call the school about the door later,” he tells her, and she doesn't think she's imagining the way his lips are pressed into a slight frown.

It's tense for a couple of days after that and Clarke can't pinpoint why. The school replaces the whole door handle and lock for her room this time and Clarke starts to move things back from Bellamy's room, suddenly hyper aware of all the things she's managed to mix in with his stuff. For his part, Bellamy is even more irritable than usual, short tempered with everyone and always buried in a book. She knows when it started, she just isn't sure how to fix it.

She doesn't have a plan, but then she gets locked out of her room shortly after one in the morning. Her key isn't broken, she just _lost_ it. She's definitely not thrilled by this turn of events, but she doesn't even think about whether or not she should go to Bellamy's room. They haven't been talking much, the last couple of weeks, but he's still her friend.

The door is locked, so she knocks on it loudly until he pulls it open and it's like that first night all over again, his hair all over the place and a scowl scrawled across his face. Only this time, he's not her hot, grumpy RA. He's Bellamy, her hot, grumpy best friend who, it hits her all at once, she definitely has a thing for.

“Can I help you?” he asks, irritable and snarky and she's pretty sure it's supposed to annoy her, but it only makes her feel fond.

“I'm locked out,” she tells him.

He lets out a long sigh. “Didn't they replace your lock?”

“Yeah. I lost my key,” she says. Bellamy blinks at her, then immediately shifts into lecture mode, something she's seen from him a million times.

“Seriously? After all the crap you gave me about how being locked out of your room is never your fault because you're ' _too responsible'_ to lose-”

She kisses him. He tastes like his cinnamon toothpaste, the one that she'd stolen a lot when she was staying over because she liked it better than the spearmint flavor she had, and it takes him a moment to catch up. His hands come up to her waist, warm through her shirt, pulling her against him. Clarke leans back a little so she can look up at him.

“So are you gonna invite me in?” she asks.

Bellamy looks somewhere between surprised and confused. “You know I have a spare key to your room, right? I can let you in.”

Clarke snorts, and pulls him back down for another kiss. “Yeah, I'd rather stay here.”

“Right,” Bellamy says, low and distracted and pulls her into the room, shutting the door firmly behind them.

They're on his bed, swollen lips and wandering hands when he says, “Wait, you do realize making out with me doesn't get you out of paying the $25 for your lost key, right?”

Clarke laughs, then grins, wicked. “Yeah, we'll see how you feel about that in the morning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an actual problem in my dorm. Unfortunately, my RA was not a beautiful, grumpy Bellamy.


	3. Creatures of My Dreams Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> future continuation of the Facing Tempests of Dust universe with a Bellarke baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a "drabble" (lbr it's too long to really be a drabble, but whatevs) done for @eskimo-whispers on tumblr & Eskimo0305 on here as part of my tumblr follower celebration. It's going to be two parts, since I had two different requests for it. Enjoy!  
> -

It's actually Bellamy who notices first. She's just come home and he's curled up on the bed as a wolf, eyes closed, but his head snaps up when she enters, clearly startled. It's an odd occurrence. Bellamy knows her intimately. He's never surprised by her presence. He blinks slowly at her a few times, muscles relaxing, and he must see the question in her eyes because the next moment he's human, pushing into a sitting position.

“You smell weird,” he says.

“Thanks?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Not bad. Just different. I didn't recognize you at first.”

Clarke shrugs, “Maybe one of the salves from the med tent is on my skin or something,” she suggests. Bellamy looks unconvinced, but doesn't say anything else. It doesn't feel like a big deal at the time.

It's honestly a little embarrassing how long it takes her to realize her period is late. It isn't until she has to duck out of the med tent three mornings in a row to vomit in the bushes that she puts the pieces together. She's functioning as a camp doctor (still in training with her mother) and she hadn't even noticed her own symptoms. Once she sees it, it's impossible to ignore.

They make annual scavenging trips back to the domes, now that they've been deemed stable enough, so they have more medical supplies these days than they used to, but it's still a far cry from the medical care Clarke grew up with. She knows there are some things in the med cabinet, like prenatal vitamins, formula, diapers, but they hadn't brought back any pregnancy tests. Abby had deemed it unnecessary. They don't have a lot of space on the trips, and pregnancy is something that will become apparent eventually. They needed that room for more critical things, morphine, latex gloves, crutches, things that people _needed_.

Even without the confirmation, Clarke is fairly certain. Now that she's aware of the possibility, she's seeing the signs. Aside from the morning sickness, she loses her breath way too easily, she has a perpetual headache, and a sudden aversion to deer meat. Individually, those things had seemed easy to excuse. Now, it seems glaringly obvious.

She should go to her mother. Abby has plenty of experience in this area and, while she may not have the tools to 100% confirm the pregnancy, she'll have a better idea than Clarke. She _will_ go to her mother. But she wants to talk to Bellamy first.

This wasn't part of a plan. They haven't been trying. She knows he wants kids eventually. Even if he hadn't told her so, she would have known. Bellamy is a natural caretaker, so much so that she's not sure he even knows it. He notices even the tiniest detail about the people around him, knows when someone needs a hug or a smile or a pat on the back. He'll be a great dad. Clarke can't even picture him _not_ being a dad someday. She just hadn't been planning on that being _now_.

She'd planned to tell him in the morning, just before she was off to her shift, so she could check with her mother immediately after and keep everything neat and timely. She _plans_ to, but in reality, she lies in bed, Bellamy warm against her back, an arm looped of her, and thinks. If she's awake, Bellamy is too. He can never sleep until she does, some weird protective instinct of his to make sure she's safe and happy.  
And because she knows he's lying awake against her, she puts her hand over his, slides her fingers between his and pulls their joined hands to rest against her lower stomach. He noses the back of her neck in acknowledgement, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Bell?” she asks softly.

“Mmm?” he mumbles and he sounds so content and sure and she just can't wait until morning.

“I think I'm pregnant.” Bellamy's fingers flex instinctively against where she's pressed them to her stomach and she feels him become sharp and aware.

“What?” His voice is breathless and tentative. Clarke rolls over to face him and he shifts to accommodate her, rubbing circles against her lower back with his thumb. He's tactile like that. Nearly always touching her.

“I'm not totally sure yet,” she says quickly, focusing on his chin, so she can get through this without becoming too emotional. “But I have multiple symptoms and my period is really late.”

“So you're pretty sure?”

Clarke nods and closes her eyes. “Are you upset?”

“Upset?” Bellamy echoes. His hand leaves her back and the next moment he's lifting her chin up and Clarke opens her eyes reluctantly. Bellamy's eyes are shiny, compassionate. “Clarke, it's _amazing_. I'm just- Wait, are _you_ upset about it? Is it too soon? Do you want-”

“-Bell,” Clarke interrupts. She brushes the tips of her fingers over his cheek, traces the familiar pattern of his freckles. “I'm kind of scared, but I'm not upset.”

Bellamy cracks a small smile and presses his forehead against hers. “What do you need?”

Clarke feels warm down to her toes because this is so Bellamy, ready to give. She's pretty sure all she needs is this, knowing someone is there for her, no matter what. With Bellamy, it's impossible to doubt that.

“Will you come with me to see my mom in the morning?”

“Anything you want,” he says earnestly. His eyes flick back down her body, like he's expecting there to suddenly be obvious evidence that she's pregnant.

“I won't show for a while,” she tells him. She can't be that far along. She can only think of one morning she forgot to take the tea Lincoln had showed her how to brew, years ago now, after her mother estimated she had two months left of her implant working and she'd needed another solution. She should have thought more about it at the time, but she'd been busy and life had gotten in the way. The chances of ending up pregnant from one day can't be that large, but Clarke's always been the exception.  
She's stopped the tea entirely since she began to suspect pregnancy. She isn't sure what the effects might be on her or the baby if she really is pregnant, but she isn't willing to find out. With Bellamy warm against her and the weight of telling him lifted off her chest, she falls asleep quickly, barely conscious enough to hear him whispering how much he loves her.

Bellamy is a protective worrywart on his best days, so it really shouldn't come as surprise that he goes into full hover mode after her mother agrees with Clarke's self diagnoses. She's pretty sure he's trying to be subtle about it. It's not like him showing up at the med tent to make sure she's eaten is uncommon, but then it's slipping extra portions into her bowl when he thinks she's not looking and changing guard shifts to be home whenever she is and constantly leaping to fulfill any half voiced desire, even things as small as Clarke complaining mildly about the squeaky wheel on Miller's makeshift wheelbarrow.

It's sweet, in a vaguely annoying way, that he's trying so hard. It's just. Clarke doesn't want everything to change. She likes her independence. She likes that she can do things for herself and she _knows_ some of those things are going to change in the coming months, but they haven't _yet,_ and she wants to enjoy this time.

Probably the weirdest new habit Bellamy picks up is his seemingly unconscious need to be in contact with her stomach as much as possible. He's constantly sidling up behind her, sliding a hand around her waist to hold her stomach. He sleeps with his hand there. He even reaches out to touch her there absently at random times. Clarke knows that pregnant women often rest their hand on their lower belly unconsciously, a protective gesture. She's never heard of an expectant father doing it before.

And while Clarke is a little irritated with certain aspects of Bellamy's behavior, she understands that he's excited and worried because she is too, so there's nothing she puts her foot down about until he gets weird about having sex. She even gets it. It's a little odd that she's growing a person inside her. The thing is, Bellamy's never been careful with her and she _likes_ that. There's nothing Clarke hates more than being treated like glass. She gives him a week and half before she brings it up.

“Look, I need you to not act like you might break me every time you touch me,” she says, probably a little more peeved than she intended. It's just, she's had a long day, and she's tired, and grumpy, and she lying in bed with Bellamy's hovering over her, eyes surprised, but admittedly hardly touching her at all.

“What?”

“Ever since we found out I'm pregnant you've been really weird about sex,” Clarke states baldly. She's not sure if it's the pregnancy hormones that are making her irritable, or the fact that one of new trainees managed to mislabel and entire shelf, making hours of extra work for Clarke, or if she's just fucking irritable. She doesn't know, but it doesn't much matter.

“What are you talking about? We had sex this morning.” Bellamy's tone is slow, even, and measured and Clarke kind of wants to punch him for it. Arguing with Bellamy is a release of its own, but that's another thing. Ever since she got pregnant he's basically refused to do it. Where he'd normally get loud and stubborn, he just nods calmly and doesn't talk back. Sure, it'd been nice for a couple of days, but bickering with Bellamy is just something that makes her feel comfortable. It's part of who they are. They love each other, but they bicker. They always have.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Really, really gently.”

“What's wrong with that?” Bellamy's calmness is going to make her scream. And the answer is _nothing_. Nothing is wrong with that. Sometimes. She just hates that it's become their always.

“Because I'm pregnant! I'm not dying! I don't want _everything_ to change!”

Bellamy sits back, crosses his arms over his bare chest. Clarke hates it when he does that; it's incredibly distracting. She can even see it, the way he's thinking so carefully before he speaks, something he never used to do with her.

“Everything _is_ changing,” he says, forced calm with annoyance leaking in at the edges. Clarke feels viciously pleased with the traces of irritation she can catch. It's a bad idea to talk about this now, when she's spoiling for a fight, anything to let off some steam, but she doesn't stop herself.

“Not _everything_ ,” she snaps. “This certainly doesn't have to. I fucking hate it when you tiptoe around me. I hate it when you're like _this._ ” She gestures at him, all closed off and controlled when she feels anything but.

Bellamy heaves a sigh, rubbing at his temple. “Can we talk about this and not argue?”

“Maybe I _want_ to argue.” She does. She's in a foul mood and she wants to take it out on someone.

“That's pretty clear.” She can almost see him contemplating escape. Sometimes, when Clarke's angry and Bellamy doesn't want to deal with it, he just turns into a wolf, curls up, and pretends he can't hear her. It pisses her off monumentally, but it works. She feels stupid ranting at him as a wolf, where he's obviously not going to answer.

“I want as many things to stay the same between us for as long as they can,” Clarke grits out, making an effort not to just scream at him. He's clearly going to refuse to get into an argument with her, and if she can't get that, maybe she can get his absurdly tentative approach to her worked out.

Bellamy breathes out and his shoulders droop. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs. He looks suddenly defeated and it startles her, distracts her from her anger. Bellamy has been nothing but sure, confident, infuriatingly calm about this whole thing (at least when he's not being excited), so it's shocking to see him look suddenly so conflicted.

“I know you don't like how gentle I've been with you. I _get_ it. I want to make you happy, do what you want, it's just... I can't- Clarke.” Bellamy's voice cracks. She watches him close his eyes, take a couple deep breaths and when he looks at her again she can see his whole life in his eyes, laid out bare. “I don't trust good things,” he tells her softly. “And it's so early still. What if you lose the baby? I would always wonder if it's my fault. Even if you were sure it wasn't... It would always feel like my fault.”

Clarke softens. It's not what she wants, but she loves him so much more than anything else she wants. And she can see it, because it's exactly what would happen; Bellamy blaming himself is certainly more reality than concept. She doesn't want that for him, piling more blame on his shoulders, however unwarranted. He weighs himself down. She won't add to it.

“Okay,” she whispers, reaching for him. He comes to her slowly, eyes sad. Clarke folds him into her arms. It's been a while since she held him, not the other way around.

“I'm sorry,” he tells her again.

“Don't be.” Her answer is fierce because she needs him to believe it. “It's _okay_. But Bellamy, you have to know it would never be your fault.”

He sighs, the tension loosening in his body and Clarke curls around him, presses her forehead against his back between his shoulder blades. She knows what his non answer means. He'd know it, but he'd never feel it. She knows that about him, even if she doesn't understand it. Bellamy feels everything deeply, almost violently. She would give anything to take that pain, but she knows the best she can do is ease it. She will, as much as she can.

 

 

 

 


	4. Simmer Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little drabble set in canon where Clarke makes Bellamy laugh  
> For @livwholikestv on tumblr!

 

“If you weren't all idiots, this wouldn't be a problem!” Bellamy's yelling at some of his appointed guard, while Clarke hovers in the background. She sighs and crosses her arms across her chest. She's only known him for just over 72 hours and he already drives her completely mad. This isn't a problem that anyone could have foreseen. Sure, if they hadn't had two guards with broken arms from daring each other to climb higher in the trees, they'd have more people for guard rotation. And if they had more people for guard rotation, then Bellamy wouldn't be taking the night shift two days in a row.

Considering Clarke's seen three different girls duck into his tent and reappear looking disappointed that he's not in, she's pretty sure she knows what he's giving up to be on duty. So it's not like Clarke doesn't get why he's annoyed. She'd be annoyed too. He just doesn't have to yell about it. Bellamy seems to like throwing around his weight. If he weren't so attractive, he'd literally have nothing going for him. Her eyes catch on the sharp line of his cheekbone. Clarke really wouldn't mind drawing him, but she can't see a future in which she'll ever be able to ask him to model. It's not like she has anything to draw with anyway.

“Want something, _Princess_?” He sneers. It's easy to remember, when he's talking, why she doesn't like him.

Clarke holds up her hands. Now is not the time for a fight. “Simmer down there, Himeros.”

Bellamy blinks at her. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“ _Himeros_ ,” Clarke repeats. “What? You think I haven't heard all the rumors? Or seen all the girls? Besides, half the shit I hear about you comes from your sister; I trust her.”

Bellamy just continues to gape at her.

Clarke sighs. “Himeros is the-”

“-I _know_ who Himeros is,” Bellamy snaps. Still, he doesn't say anything else, just looks at her, the expression on his face one she hasn't seen before.

“Well, if that's all,” Clarke says, eyebrows raised, “I've got better things to do. FYI, I always liked Anteros better.”

* * *

 

“Your brother is weird,” Clarke informs Octavia the next morning when they're both working in the dropship, organizing the few medical supplies they've managed to collect. She's not sure why Octavia is here. It's not really a two person job, but she thinks Octavia is avoiding something, maybe Bellamy.

Octavia snorts. “No argument here. But out of curiosity, what makes you say so?”

“He was getting all bratty and he called me Princess, so I just gave him his own nickname and then he just stared at me until I left.”

Octavia narrows her eyes. “What _sort_ of nickname?”

“Himeros.”

“Himma-what?”

“Himeros, he's the Greek God of Uncontrollable Desire and Unrequited Love,” Clarke explains, rolling her eyes just thinking about it. It fits Bellamy pretty well if she does say so herself.

Octavia bursts out laughing. “Oh God, you didn't!”

 _“What?”_ Clarke demands.

“Bell is like the biggest history nerd on the planet and he's _obsessed_ with Ancient Greece and Rome. He probably fell in love with you the moment it left your lips.”

“No way,” Clarke is shaking her head. “I didn't even _know_ that about him.”

Octavia is trying to contain her giggles. “So am I best man or maid of honor at the wedding?”

“Shut up!” Clarke elbows her, laughing. That'd be the day, she thinks, trying to imagine liking Bellamy enough to even consider him a friend, much less anything else. Still Octavia's words haunt her; it's weird to think that she knows something actually substantial about Bellamy Blake.

* * *

 

They're screaming at each other again. She doesn't know when this got to be her new normal. She spends at least 60% of her time screaming her head off at Bellamy. He's glowering at her, eyes narrowed. She pauses in her rant to breathe, chest heaving, staring him down. Unfortunately, since she spends so much time glaring at him, it's hard to miss things, like the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones.

“Like what you see, Princess?”

Clarke feels her anger surge back up. “Believe it or not, no. If you weren't such a giant dickwad who thinks the entire world revolves around your penis, we might actually get some work done!”

Bellamy looks stunned. He stares, slightly open mouthed, then bursts out laughing.

“What?” Clarke snaps.

He's clutching his sides. “Well, can you imagine it?” He's nearly crying he's laughing so hard. “The world revolving around a penis. That's quite a mental picture there, Princess.”

Clarke fights to keep her lips pressed in a frown. “Shut up.”

Bellamy shakes his head, catching his breath. “I don't know where you get this stuff, really.”

“What stuff?”

“Himeros, dickwad, infuriating ass,” he lists off, but his eyes are light, playful.

“I didn't say that last one to your face,” Clarke points out, grinning at him.

“Yeah, that makes it better. And if I'm Himeros who does that make you? Harmonia? Adrestia?”

“I am _not_ your sister,” Clarke protests, surprised that it comes out so sharply. She's not sure why the idea strikes her as so disagreeable. Bellamy can be overbearing, but he's clearly a great brother to Octavia.

Bellamy looks startled for a moment, then smiles, slow. “Yeah, I'm aware of that,” he tells her. She opens her mouth to answer, but Miller shows up before she gets a chance, dragging Bellamy away to sort out a disagreement between Myles and Mbege.

* * *

 

It only takes a matter of days for her world to realign, everything she feels like she knows getting turned around. First, Raven Reyes hurtles to Earth in a metal pod and blows Clarke's beliefs about Finn to smithereens. Next, she watches Finn almost die, sanctions torture, and realizes that she and Bellamy Blake might be very different, but she's never looked at someone and seen so much understanding looking back.

And now... Now she's sitting with her back against a tree, her body aching, and she and Bellamy Blake just saved each other's lives. It's been a long, weird, week and something tells her she's still at the beginning of where this all leads.

He comes home with her, even though she wasn't sure he would, and there's an unspoken link between them now. She's seen him, on his knees begging for death, beaten to a pulp and calling himself a monster, and he's seen her too. She doesn't know exactly what to call what's forged between them, but it's not something she can go back from. She wouldn't want to, even if she could. There's something steady about Bellamy, reassuring, _trustworthy_. It makes breathing a little bit easier. She starting to come to terms with the fact that this world is more complicated than she'd bargained for.

In a whirlwind of the next few days, the Exodus ship crash is a breathless, still moment in time. It's a moment that turns from excitement to horror so fast that Clarke is left reeling in its wake, trying to reconcile what she's just seen with what _feels_ true.

She flinches when someone touches her shoulder, nearly jerks away, but then she meets Bellamy's eyes and he doesn't look sorry, which might make her scream, he just looks gentle. She's never quite seen him look like this and it is both comforting and drives home the very real fact that the Exodus ship is _gone_. Her mother is gone with it. Clarke moves without thinking, turning and pressing herself up against Bellamy Blake and to his credit, he it only takes him one stunned moment to react, before gathering her up against him.

Clarke doesn't even realize she's crying until his shirt starts sticking to her face, but she's too stunned and emotional to care. It's not just this, it's everything, one thing on top of the other and Clarke's starting to think she's never going to get to feel happy again.

She stops crying pretty quickly. Tears really are a luxury she can't afford, but she lingers. Bellamy holds her carefully, like he's not sure he's allowed to, and it strikes Clarke as funny, because she's quite sure he's used to handling girls. Maybe not crying ones, she amends, but then, she's seen him with Octavia, so it's probably just that he's not used to _Clarke_. He'd likely rather be anywhere but here.

“Don't you have a harem to get back to?” Clarke mutters against his sternum, starting to feel embarrassed about crying on him.

“No harem,” he says lowly. “It turns out I'm more of an Anteros guy after all.”

Clarke snorts, turns her face into his shoulder, and for the first time since she realized how stupid she was to trust Finn, she feels completely safe in someone's arms.

She and Bellamy aren't really friends exactly, but she trusts him. It's more than she thought she'd ever say about him, and it feels like just the beginning. It's becoming abundantly clear to her that she's only scratched the surface of who Bellamy is, and she has a sneaking suspicion that she's going to like what she finds underneath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, Anteros is the brother of Himeros and is the god of requited love. Basically, Himeros is desire & lust and Anteros is love & romance.


	5. Creatures of My Dreams Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> future continuation of the Facing Tempests of Dust universe with a Bellarke baby - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an incredibly late gift drabble for ariadnequagmire on tumblr- sorry it took so long!

They decide not to tell people until Clarke's obviously showing. It's still early and since Clarke has never been pregnant before, she doesn't have baseline on how likely a miscarriage might be. Abby had three before Clarke, which has Clarke in a constant state of worry. This is part of the first generation of dome children to be born to outside of the domes. They don't have the medical care Clarke grew up with. It's more dangerous out here.

Lincoln tries to reassure her. “Women have been having perfectly healthy babies out here for generations while you were in your domes. And you might not have all the medical care that your mother did, but you have more than most of us, with your mother's training and the things that they've managed to salvage from your city.”

Clarke knows he's right, but it's in her nature to worry and she can't just turn it off. It's not like Bellamy's any better. If anything, he's worse. On more than one occasion Clarke has caught him trailing Abby around the camp pestering her with questions. She might try to stop him, but the expression on her mother's face is entertaining enough that she lets it go.

With all the terrifying scenarios Clarke's made up in her own head, it doesn't even initially to occur to her to worry about what might be an obvious one. It comes to her in flash, halfway through dinner.

“I'm not going to have a puppy, right?” Clarke asks abruptly, looking up from her bowl.

“The term is _cub_ , not puppy,” Bellamy informs her. “ _Dogs_ have puppies. I'm not a dog, Princess.” His face is carefully straight. She's pretty sure he's joking. He better be joking.

“ _Bellamy_.”

He grins. “No, you're not going to have a puppy.”

“Or a cub?”

“Or a cub,” he confirms. “Honestly, the baby probably won't get the shifting ability anyway. It's rare. And if it does, you still don't have to worry because the shift won't manifest until age two at the earliest, at least according to my tribe's elders.”

“Okay,” Clarke nods, calming down somewhat. Between the two of them, they probably have every angle of concern covered, but that doesn't seem to help either of them sleep at night. Edging slowly towards parenthood is terrifying.

It's weird, because Clarke being pregnant brings her closer to her mother than she's been in years. Clarke had spent so much of her childhood and teenage years pulling away from Abby, needing to establish herself as her own person, not to be defined as only her mother's daughter. She's independent, and always has been. So for the first time in a long time, Clarke finds herself turning constantly to her mother.

“Everything looks fine,” her mother tells her for about the twelfth time since the beginning of her 16 week appointment. It's the first one she's had without Bellamy. He and Miller had been delayed returning from a hunting trip and had to stay out overnight, and as much as she wishes he was there with her, she knows he'll be twice as upset for missing it.

“How are you feeling?” Abby asks.

“I'm fine.” She thinks she says it a little too quickly, because Abby frowns at her. “Really,” Clarke insists. And she is fine. Obviously Clarke is the sort of person who wants to be able to control a situation and the fact that she can't actually control this is hard for her, but it's not like she regrets it. Abby is still frowning.

“What?” Clarke demands.

“It's just, you're still so young, Clarke. And I _know_ Bellamy's excited,” her mother's lips turn up at the corners. It turns out it's pretty hard for her to hate a man that loves her daughter so much. “But are you?”

“I am,” Clarke says quickly. “I just don't like change; you know that. I want things to change, because obviously they _have_ to, for me to have this baby. I just... I've been really happy. What if I'm not anymore? What if the baby turns out like Bell and is so self sacrificing it hurts to watch? What if the baby turns out like _me_?”

Abby pulls Clarke into a hug, sighing deeply. “Your baby will turn exactly like _them_. You'll see bits of yourself and Bellamy, but every parent sees themselves in their child a little bit. You don't have to show them how to be perfect. You just have to do your best to show them how to be _good_.”

Clarke lets out a relieved breath. “It's not gonna be a puppy. I asked Bellamy,” she mumbles against her mother.

“I know,” Abby says.

“You _know_?” Clarke pulls back to look at her mother, calm and assured.

“Bellamy came in to see me the other day, wanted me to do all this extra testing to make sure he wasn't medically different than an average human. He told me all about it.”

Clarke's eyes sting a little as some tears well up. She blames it on the pregnancy hormones.

“He did?” It's not secret that Bellamy and her mother aren't overly fond of each other. Or... they never used to be. She knows her mother had initially worried Bellamy would hurt her, and when it became clear he would more likely hurt himself, her issues with him seemed to dissolve. For Bellamy's part he never seemed to trust Abby, which Clarke blames herself for. She hadn't painted her mother in the best light when she'd first met Bellamy. But the better Clarke and Abby do, the more Bellamy seems to come around to her.

“Bellamy and I...” Abby pauses. “He's your go to person, now, Clarke. And that always used to be me. I didn't want to give that up to just anybody, but I know that he's devoted to you. I trust him.”

Clarke's afraid anything she tries to say to that will come with the addition of tears, so she just nods along. Her mother's right, of course, to trust him.

What Clarke didn't bargain on was how her pregnancy would bring all of her and Bellamy's insecurities to the forefront. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that both she and Bellamy have some deep scars when it comes to the topic of parenting, but each new one seems like its own little revelation. Bellamy keeps his to himself, for the most part, probably out of some fear of upsetting her, but when she can she tries to draw them out of him. It's probably best to deal with all these feelings before the baby is actually born.

So when he sighs for probably the fourth time since they went to bed one night, neither being able to find sleep, she feels like it's probably something that actually needs to be addressed.

“What is it?” Clarke asks, because she can practically _feel_ him thinking, tracing patterns onto the tiny bump in her stomach. She's not even far enough along for it to be the baby, just her displaced intestines as the baby needs more space, but she's not going to tell him that. It doesn't really matter and he's a romantic in a way she isn't. She doesn't need to shatter his illusions.

“I never had a dad,” he says against her neck, slow and unsure. “How will I know how to be one?” She almost laughs, but manages to hold it in at the last second because he's clearly being serious. It's just absurd. Of all the things she imagined Bellamy would worry about (most of which she's been right about) it never even _occurred_ to her that this would be one.

“Bell,” she turns her head so she can get a look at him, his eyes downcast and his hand a little shaky against her. “You've been parenting since you were six years old. Octavia might not be your kid, but you already know how to be a father.”

He looks up and he's so close that his eyelashes brush against her chin. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

Clarke tangles her fingers in his hair, rubs at his scalp the way he likes. “I'm pretty sure all parents feel like that. I have no idea how to be a mom, either. I think the main thing is to love this baby and want to take care of it and I know you already do.”

“Your mom said something like that to you, didn't she?” He mumbles into her neck.

“Pretty much, yeah.” It's a lot easier to believe the advice when it's applied to Bellamy, really. She can feel his smile against her skin.

“Hhhhmmmm. Maybe she's not as bad as I thought.” And Clarke laughs, but coming from Bellamy, that actually means a lot.

* * *

 

Pregnancy for Clarke basically goes like this- an extreme amount of stress that makes the first 4 to 6 months feel like an eternity, and then 3 months of irritation and constantly needing to pee that somehow fly by in a blur.

She goes into labor in the early hours of the morning and Bellamy has a minor panic attack in relation to Clarke's calm. Funnily enough, now that it's time, Clarke isn't worried. Sure, she's probably compartmentalizing a lot, and the contractions pretty much suck, but it just feels better, now that it's finally happening.

It doesn't stop her from nearly breaking Bellamy's hand during the delivery. His eardrums probably sustained some damage too, but Clarke's not really in the mood to feel bad about it. But then it's like everything has been put on mute except for the sound of a baby wailing. Clarke tries to sit up a little further, get a better view of where her mother is holding her baby, _her baby_ , but she's exhausted and ends up falling back against the pillows that are propping her up, breathing deeply, eyes sliding closed.

“Clarke,” Abby's voice brings her back to the moment. “It's a girl.”

Everything's sort of blurry, but she reaches out and, _oh- she's so small._ Nothing quite feels real to Clarke in that moment, cradling her child in her arms- like the world slows down, narrows, and it's just this, just breathing, Bellamy at her her shoulder.

All too soon though, Clarke can feel her eyelids beginning to droop and she wants nothing more than to stay here, awake with her family, but she's just slipping away into her exhaustion and Bellamy is reaching out to gently take their daughter from her. The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the glisten of tears on Bellamy's cheek.

On the one hand, it turns out they were right to worry, because being a parent is the scariest and hardest thing that Clarke has ever done. But it's undeniably the most amazing thing too. It seems to involve every emotion under the sun and even though she feels like she worried about every possible scenario, it turns out she was wrong, because every day is a learning experience, something new she hadn't thought of. She hadn't really thought about how she'd never have any time to herself, because even though Bellamy is the most present father she could imagine, it's not like he can breastfeed, so she's basically tied down. She still wouldn't trade the experience for the world.

It takes them two weeks to settle on name. Partially because Clarke is picky and partially because Bellamy keeps suggesting women from history with names like Hortensia.

“For the last time Bellamy, I refuse to name our daughter Fulvia, it sounds way too close to vulva, okay?”

“She was a total badass, though.”

“Not the point, Bell.”

After a mild intervention by Abby they settle on Livia, which Clarke actually likes and Bellamy is thrilled to inform her was the wife of Augustus. It's basically Bellamy's dream come true, Clarke thinks, to have another woman in his life named after a political Roman figure. Secretly, she doesn't mind so much. Bellamy's tales of history and mythology had brought them together, after all.

* * *

 

By the time Livia is two and half, she can tell Bellamy is itching for another child. He's such a natural parent, just as she knew he would be. She wants to have that with him one day, she's just not so sure that day is _now_. Livia is a lot of work on her own. She got her father's dark curls and freckles and big imploring eyes and apparently his ability to talk his way in and out of situations, but she also got Clarke's dogged determination and logic and it's a deadly and tiring combination. She's got half the camp wrapped around her finger.

Clarke hears Bellamy laughing outside their cabin, a laugh so full that she's only heard it a handful of times in their years together. It's enough that she puts down the laundry she'd been folding.

“You better not have tried to cut Livia's hair again,” Clarke calls out to him as she makes her way to the open door. It had been a disaster the first time.

But when she gets to the door instead of the familiar sight of Livia perched on her father's shoulders, Bellamy's standing in the garden, a small, black ball of fluff curled in his arms. Clarke freezes for a moment, surprised, and Bellamy's still laughing, using an index finger to rub under the cub's chin. The pup notices Clarke and lets out a bright yip and the first thing Clarke thinks is how much harder it will be to keep track of her mischievous daughter now, but even so, Clarke finds she's smiling.

 


	6. I Was Not Magnificent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drabble - just some of the times Clarke Griffin breaks Bellamy Blake's heart 
> 
> note: expect angst

 

The first time Clarke Griffin breaks his heart, she tells him his life is worth the risk. It's not anything he didn't already know, but he'd thought, for a few brief, shining hours, that she had disagreed. It's a little break this time, a crack, more than anything else. But he hasn't trusted anyone, excluding Octavia, enough to have the power to so much as scratch his heart in years. It's a rude awakening.

The second time Clarke breaks his heart, he loses a few pieces, shards that she takes with her when she leaves him, whether she knows it or not. He can't hate her for going, but he wishes he could, because this is so much worse. He's the one who stayed, took care of their people because she asked him to, but he's never felt more isolated and alone.

The third time is shocking, because he doesn't see it coming at all. He's only just found her and she's there in violent, brilliant color, and then she's not and he's got a new limp and a fire in his belly. The third time, it isn't her fault. Which makes the fourth all the worse.

It only takes two words from her to break his heart the fourth time, a cold, collected "I'm sorry," because it's already so damaged he's barely holding it together to begin with. It's easy to hear all the other things she doesn't say, like how it wasn't that what they did was too much for her to face, but rather that he wasn't enough to keep her there. She can face it with someone else, a girl who commands armies, and how could he be foolish enough to believe he would be equal to that? When did he start thinking that they were partners, that he was anything more than a foot soldier, a pawn, an expendable game piece? She'd told him as much when she sent him into the mountain, but first she'd planted a seed of hope in his chest, its roots filling in the cracks in his heart. The fourth time, she rips that hope out.

The fifth time, he's expecting it. She shows up, with soft pleading eyes and he feels so much anger he could burst with it, but he can't find any hate. This time when she says "I need you," it's a crushing blow, echoes in his ears a mockery of every moment he actually believed that was true. It makes him feel so small he could just disappear. He had wanted so much to be someone to her, had believed it so deeply, but now he knows he's not. He's furious with himself that he still wants to be. He flings angry words at her, all the pain that she's forced in his chest bleeding out. Her tears don't feel like a victory. In the end, she still owns every beat behind his ribs.

The sixth time Clarke Griffin breaks his heart, she's reaching blindly for him with a trembling hand. He's found a tentative peace in himself, with them, or the lack of what they'll ever be, this time. This break is almost a gentle one, a quiet resignation that she will keep breaking his heart as long as it is still beating. He knows she has to do it, sink black blood into her veins and fight a monster inside her head, and he doesn't blame her. He just wishes it could be different. He'll die protecting her here if he has to. But he can't protect her from what's inside her own mind. He'd do anything to protect her.

Coming to terms with the fact that he loves someone who will never love him back is uniquely painful. It's different from the hope, which had been slowly crushing, the air seeping out of his lungs a little more with each breath. This is sharp, sudden, an acceptance that renders him useless for a few frozen moments when she wakes up and looks at him, blood on her face and no peace in her eyes. He will follow her to the end of the world. That's looking like a likely outcome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just something that's been sitting around on my laptop since the end of season 3 and I've finally come to terms with the fact that while this was originally intended to be the beginning of a fic, I'm not going to write anything that follows this. I just have too many ideas of things I want to write for Bellarke and this never had a plot to go with it, sooo. Anyway, I don't actually believe some of the things Bellamy thinks about Clarke and how she feels about him (obviously), but since Bellamy tends to have a habit of seeing very little worth in himself, this was just some of my imaginings of how certain things might have felt to him.


	7. Am I Yours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's never really seen Bellamy “out of it” until he gets his wisdom teeth removed.
> 
> OR 
> 
> Clarke takes Bellamy to get his wisdom teeth removed and he doesn’t know who she is with the anesthesia- fluff ensues (I never said I was original, okay?)

Clarke's never really seen Bellamy “out of it” until he gets his wisdom teeth removed. He doesn't drink much, which she's never asked about, but is pretty sure has something to do with his mother, and despite the copious amounts of edibles that are available when you're friends with Monty and Jasper, she's never seen him high. That might also have to do with his mother, come to think of it. Bellamy stays away from addictive substances, full stop, and she hopes he'd tell her if he needed to talk about it, but it's not something she wants to pressure him into discussing. So the first time Clarke ever even glimpses a Bellamy who is not in full control of his mental faculties is post op at the dentist.

It had taken some work to even get him there. He didn't have dental insurance growing up, and though he'd somehow come up with the cash to get Octavia's wisdom teeth removed in high school, he'd never done it for himself. That's typical Bellamy, Clarke thinks. He's great at taking care of other people, but not so good at taking care of himself. It's something, as his girlfriend, that Clarke has decided they need to work on. She just hasn't quite mentioned it to him yet; she thinks it'll go better if she tricks him into it. Blakes are stubborn, so it's easier if you let them think something is all their idea.

Bellamy hadn't wanted to get his wisdom teeth removed at all.

“I've gotten through twenty four years with them, they're fine,” he'd grumbled, when Clarke had brought it up. Of course, he was grumbling because he was in _pain_ , something she'd had to notice, with the way he'd wince and rub absently at his jaw, because he needed his wisdom teeth removed.

“They're going to get infected if they aren't already. What if they come in crooked? Clearly something isn't right.”

He'd waved her off and pretended like he had a phone call he needed to return. The liar.

It takes two weeks for him to break and admit he needs the surgery, and another before they could fit it into their schedule. He's pretty miserable by the time the day rolls around. And nervous.

He doesn't say it, but Bellamy's wound tighter than a spring by the time they make it to the dentist. He'd tried to convince her that Lincoln could take him (knowing that Lincoln is one of their few friends who probably _wouldn't_ film him while he's under the influence), but Clarke's not about to miss this. Plus, he needs the emotional support. He's never had anything more than a check up and the occasional flu shot in his life. Bellamy's not a big fan of doctors.

They don't let her back with him until after they're done, so she'd squeezed his hand goodbye and settled down in the waiting room with a magazine. It really doesn't do an adequate job distracting her during the hour and a half wait and Clarke finds herself counting the pink tiles in the pattern on the floor. By the time they send her back, she's ready to _go_.

Bellamy's lying back in the dentist chair with a dreamy look in his eyes when she comes in. He doesn't seem to register her, in fact, he seems to be fascinated with the large mural of the ocean that's painted on one wall. She pulls out her phone to record him. No one will forgive her if she doesn't. Plus, she could use some good material to use when Bellamy teases her about her drunk antics.

“Hey,” she grips his hand gently. “How're you feeling.”

He turns his head to her slowly, all big doe eyes, that go even wider when they see her. “Wow.”

“You feel wow?” Clarke asks, trying to hold back the smile that's fighting to break out.

He ignores the question. “Are you an angel?” It comes out slurred, but awe filled enough that Clarke nearly giggles. She likes him like this, sober Bellamy probably would have told her to stop smiling like that because she's being an asshole.

“I'm Clarke,” she tells him, and squeezes his fingers a little. He's still sleepy, and it seems to take him a moment to notice, eyes slowly sliding down to their linked hands. He studies them, for a long moment. When he looks back up his eyes go wide all over again.

“You're really pretty,” he says sincerely.

“Thank you.”

“I'm really pretty too,” Bellamy adds, almost as an afterthought, and Clarke cracks up. He's not wrong, but it's just so unapologetically honest. Clarke _knew_ he had a vain streak in there somewhere. Turns out humble Bellamy disappears with his filter. She'll have to remember that.

A nurse pops her head in the room, smiling. “You ready to head home?” she asks.

“I think so,” Clarke responds and Bellamy is mostly quiet as they help him into a wheelchair, mumbling something entirely unintelligible, though Clarke is pretty sure she hears the words, “Zeus was a cunt,” in there somewhere as she's checking him out at the front and she nearly loses it right there in the waiting room.

“You're really pretty,” Bellamy tells Clarke yet again, as she's about to wheel him away from the desk and the receptionist smiles at him.

“You've got a good one there, huh?” she says to Clarke, looking fond.

“Pretty good, yeah.”

When Clarke turns back to Bellamy, he's looking at her with the widest, most amazed look yet, and that's saying something.

“Am I yours?” he murmurs, even as his eyelashes are sweeping across his cheeks as he struggles to keep his eyes open. She almost tells him yes, but then she thinks about it. She thinks about how he's always seemed to feel like a possession, belonging to someone, for them to use. First his mother, then Octavia. He's lived most of his life for other people, like that's all he's good for. She pets at his hair with one hand as she pushes his wheelchair out of the way of the check out line with the other. He tries to focus on her with blurry eyes, patient.

“You're not anyone's, Bellamy. You're your own... But you and me? We're in this together.”

“Oh.” He seems to consider that for a moment. A beautiful smile spreads across his face, even with the swelling and the icepack strapped around his chin. It makes her heart thump painfully in her chest.

“I like that,” he tells her, eyes soft and shining. God, she'd expected this to be funny. She wasn't prepared for him to be this soft.

By the time she gets him out to the car, he's convinced he has no tongue. She takes a video of him sitting in the passenger seat, very upset over his lack of tongue, no matter how many times she tries to convince him it's in there.

“It's _gone_ , Clarke” he repeats. He'd finally seemed to grasp who she was, which had sent him back to glaring at her and calling her an asshole.

“I promise it's not.”

“You're gonna feel so bad about this later when I can't eat you out anymore,” he grumbles and Clarke is forced to stop filming she's laughing so hard.

Sadly, Bellamy's anesthesia induced hilarity hadn't lasted long, and by the time anyone can make it over to bring him ice cream and movies, he's already back to normal. But then, he'd swelled up like a chipmunk for the next couple of days and Clarke had taken lots of snapchats to send to everyone.

Their friends laugh themselves silly at the video of Bellamy in the car and the following week is full of impressions of Bellamy's anger that Clarke won't believe that his tongue is missing. He'd even tried to insist they go back to the dentist to get it.

Bellamy takes it all with much eye rolling and comments muttered under his breath, but she can tell it doesn't really bother him, or at least, not _that_ much. She thinks he could probably do with never hearing the phrase “you're gonna feel so bad about this later when I can't eat you out anymore,” ever again, but other than that, he's pretty calm about the whole thing.

Of course, he does take every opportunity to remind Clarke she's an asshole.

“Honestly, I should have gotten Lincoln to take me. You're such a dick,” he tells her as they're crawling into bed a week and half later and Clarke's giggling because Raven had sent her a drunken snapchat of her mocking Bellamy and his missing tongue.

“Anesthesia Bellamy thought I was an angel.”

“Yeah, and that's how you know he was fucking stoned.”

Clarke elbows him in retaliation, but then curls into his side and he slips a hand up the back of her nightshirt to press it, warm and firm against her skin. She appreciates the humor that drugged Bellamy had brought into their lives, but what stays with her most is the way he'd smiled when she'd told him they were in things together. She hadn't told anyone else about it, either, not even Bellamy. She doesn't think she can do it justice, or explain quite the way he'd looked at her.

She glances up so she can see his face, eyes closed, and face relaxed, already on the edge of sleep. He looks so young like this, and it reminds her of the wonder in his eyes. Bellamy's thoughts, unfiltered, were as beautiful as he was. The last thing she thinks as she drifts off is that she'd meant what she'd said, that Bellamy is his own, because he absolutely is. _But_ she thinks, quietly to herself, that yeah, he's hers too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wasn’t gonna do any more drabbles until the final part of This is a Song About Somebody Else was up, but this one just wouldn’t leave me alone. So anyway, here it is. I only rated this T because I’m reluctant to rate anything G that mentions sexual acts, but really this is 99% G. Hope you enjoy!


	8. All For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke Valentine’s Day drabble! pure fluff.

 

Clarke doesn't get the fuss over Valentine's Day. Really, it's just a highly commercialized holiday that puts pressure on couples and makes single people sad. Her distaste for the holiday has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she's never had anyone to celebrate it with before. Not that she and Bellamy will be celebrating. She's heard Bellamy complain about Valentine's Day being a “bastardization of history” for the past two years, so she knows it's not something he's into. And they'd talked about it, in passing, about how silly the traditional Valentine's Day gifts seem, so she knows it's not going to be special. They're planning to order pizza and have beer and watch some documentaries on Netflix when they get home from work, and that'll be good. It's doesn't have to be special.

The problem is, the rest of the world seems a lot more into Valentine's Day than she is. The moment Clarke steps into the office she notices the pink candles that have been scattered around the heart shaped candies that now sit in a pink dish just inside the door. She rolls her eyes, takes off her scarf, and settles in for the day, pretending the abundance of pink and red clothing of her coworkers is normal.

Clarke works reception at a law firm in Manhattan. It's not glamorous, not her passion, but it pays well enough for her to afford her apartment and food and she's able to stay in New York and paint in her spare time. Maybe one day she'll actually sell something. Sometimes Clarke wonders what she's doing, and if she should have chosen an easier path, but she met Bellamy here and she can't bring herself to in any way regret her decisions.

They hadn't liked each other- her and Bellany, at first. Raven uses the word 'hate' when she explains it, but Clarke doesn't think she ever hated Bellamy. They're both just strong personalities who don't like to back down, but once they'd learned to listen to each other, it turned out they work well together. Falling in love with him had come later.

She's only been dating Bellamy for the last three months, and while she can't imagine what would make her ever want to end it, Valentine's Day feels a little much a little too soon. Or, at least, that's what she's telling herself, when the massive bouquet of roses arrives for her coworker Niylah and she feels the slightest kernel of disappointment.

They're not doing Valentine's day, so it's silly to suddenly feel sad about not having anything for herself. Clarke doesn't even _like_ Valentine's Day. She really doesn't. But Niylah and Bryan and Anya all get flowers and Indra and Roma both come back from their lunch break with new jewelry and Sterling even ends up with a _singing telegram_. Clarke thinks singing telegrams are embarrassing and she's glad she doesn't get one, but she can't help feeling like she's missing out on something more than she ever has before.

Thirty minutes before the end of the day, a box of chocolate arrives in a red box with a brown bow, one of the expensive ones from Mariebelle, and Clarke suppresses a sigh as she signs for it, waiting until the delivery boy is out the door to check to see whose desk she needs to take it to- probably Echo.

But when she flips the card open, the first thing she sees is “ _Princess,_ ” and her heart leaps into her throat. The full note reads _Princess, I think today is some kind of holiday? I love you, Bellamy._ He _shouldn't_ have, Clarke thinks, totally at odds with the smile she can't help spreading across her face. He shouldn't have and she knows money is tight for him right now and she shouldn't want him to spend it on frivolous stuff like chocolate on holidays and yet... Well, maybe Clarke likes Valentine's Day more than she's willing to admit.

She finds herself smiling down at the box perched in her lap several times during her subway ride home. The R is packed and smelly and there's a man who openly ogles her two seats down, but none of it is enough to dampen her spirits. She and Bellamy are neighbors and they both live in three story walk ups with two buildings in between. Clarke's apartment is on the first floor, Bellamy's the third. She passes by her own apartment building and heads straight for Bellamy's. She's had her own key since he broke his ankle six months ago and Clarke was helping him out, but that fact has taken on a different meaning now that they're dating; it's an open invitation into his home, something that she appreciates deeply after her disaster of a relationship with Finn.

She finds Bellamy in his kitchen, pizza already on the counter waiting, and a beer in hand. He grins when he sees what she's holding, but it has a sheepish edge to it.

“I know you said not to get you anything,” he starts, setting his beer down on the counter, and rubbing the back of his neck, “but I just...” he shrugs, studying her face closely. Clarke does her best to keep her face passive, let him sweat for a moment, but inside she's beaming.

“You're not going to yell at me, are you?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke cracks, then, dropping the box on the kitchen table and flinging herself into Bellamy's arms with a laugh. He catches her, and wraps her up in his arms after a moment of surprised hesitation.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmurs into his neck.

Bellamy draws back to kiss her, gentle and pleased with himself.

“I should have gotten _you_ something,” Clarke pouts when they part.

“No,” he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because if you did Murphy would literally never stop giving me shit about it.”

Clarke laughs, but he's right, Bellamy's coworker Murphy loves getting under his skin. “Well, I can think of a gift or two for tonight that Murphy doesn't have to know anything about,” she suggests, smug when he swallows hard.

“Yeah, that- Yeah.”

“But dinner first,” Clarke says, brisk, stepping away from him and snagging the pizza off the counter.

They eat pizza and drink beer and watch Netflix as planned and Clarke blows him when she gets bored with the documentary, Bellamy initially fussing that she's interrupting the movie, but his protests dying out _fast_.

Later, after they've both dozed off wrapped in one blanket on their sofa, Clarke wakes and bundles them both off to bed, falling into it with lazy kisses and wandering hands such a warmth in her chest she thinks she might actually glow with happiness. Her last conscious thought before she falls asleep is that there might be something to this whole Valentine's Day thing after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually do holiday drabbles, but here we are. i never claimed it was original or anything other than pure fluff.  
> I literally just wrote this real fast while watching the Olympics and I didn't particularly proof read it, so sorry for typos!

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm trying really hard to start doing drabbles as a way to warm up for writing and I suck at doing short things, so these might suck, but I'm trying! If you have drabble requests you can send them to me at grumpybell.tumblr.com and I can't say I will 100% do them, but I'll try out a few & I'll at least let you know if I can't do your request!


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